


Drunk Love

by isitandwonder



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Drunk Sex, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 04:31:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12975972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isitandwonder/pseuds/isitandwonder
Summary: Reading about how Timmy and Armie got lost after getting hammered at this small Trattoria near Crema gave me the idea for writing this little smut fic.Usual RPF disclaimer: I don't know these people, this is a work of ficiton, nothing featured in this story happened for real.





	Drunk Love

They are wasted. Totally, totally pissed.

„Hammered.“ Armie snickers, and he and Timmy grasp each others shoulders as they are shaken by another giggling fit.

„Definitely.“ Timmy huffs, trying to get his breathing back under control. „I'd wish...“ he trails off, curling himself around Armie's sturdy body, looking for support and something else he's lost in his fuzzy state.

„God, you are such a lightweight.“ Armie tells him, his face blurry because they are just inches apart now and Timmy isn't sure if Armie is talking about his body shape or his ability to hold his liquor.

They'd had dinner at their favorite Trattoria just outside Crema, right in the middle of nowhere. You had to know where to go to find it. Yet the food was delicious. They'd had Risotto and Ravioli and shared a Mousse al cioccolato for dessert. Stefano had first served them some of his excellent red Guttornio with the main course and then had kept the Calvados coming long after the Mousse was gone. They'd all toasted to the success of the movie, Armie's wife, the health of his children and even the timely demise of a certain Donald Trump running for president at the moment, getting more and more drunk with every glass knocked back while chatting about everything and nothing at one of the small wooden tables.

While seated, it hadn't been obvious just how sloshed they'd become. This only became apparent as, upon leaving, Timmy couldn't find his bike and Armie had trouble holding onto the handle of his own, missing it as he tried to lean onto it. Luckily, Timmy grabbed him around the waist and steadied him, otherwise he would have landed face down on the ground. The make-up artists wouldn't have been pleased with the results the next morning.

Eventually, they'd managed to locate their bikes and unchained them, but realized they were way too drunk to ride them. So they just push them, walking side by side along the dark country road leading back to their accommodation in Crema.

That is, until Armie has to piss. He lets his bike fall to the ground as he unceremoniously walks off into the shrubbery lining the road. Timmy follows him for anything better to do.

Armie groans with relieve as he empties his bladder against a tree. Timmy has no idea where to look, so he just stares at Armie who has to steady himself with one large hand at the tree trunk.

“Like what you see?” Armie asks suddenly, sounding way too sober for Timmy's liking.

“Ugh... what?” Is his eloquent reply.

Armie just turns towards him, his shorts still hanging open, his thick cock peaking out between his fingers.

“Do you like what you see, Timothée Chalamet?” Armie emphasizes every word, sounding almost ridiculous in his over-articulation. He even mockingly lengthens Timmy's first name in a silly French accent.

Timmy swallows, staring down at Armie's crotch. Fuck it. “Yeah...,” comes his reply, much less cocky than he's intended.

“Then why don't you have at it?” Armie asks, and immediately, Timmy is closing the distance between them on shaky legs, sinking down onto his knees on the soft forest ground, pressing his face against the soft pale skin between Armie's thigh and groin. He can smell soap, sweat, musk and a hint of the sharp scent of piss but he doesn't care. He inhales deeply, his tongue darting out to lick, to taste...

Armie's large hand in his dark curls pulls him back.

“What are you doing?” He asks, his voice uncharacteristically high. Timmy freezes, mortified. Did he get something wrong? Was it all just a joke? After all, he only met this man three weeks ago. What does he know about him, really? He's just too drunk to think straight right now.

“Sorry.” Timmy mumbles and tries to get back onto his feet, an embarrassed giggle escaping his mouth.

But suddenly, Armie is kneeling in front of him as well, his hands still fisted in Timmy's hair. It's too dark to see each other properly, but Timmy senses a broad smile on Armie's face just before their lips crash together in a messy kiss.

Next thing Timmy knows, they are rolling around on the ground. Armie's bare cock is hard now, pressing into Timmy's belly. A twig pokes him in the back and he rolls them over, ending suddenly on top of Armie, his knees on either side of his waist.

He grinds down recklessly, pressing his still clad cock against Armie's naked length, showing him just how much he wants this. Fir needles scrape his bare shins but he doesn't care.

“Off... off.” Armie mumbles as he pulls Timmy's t-shirt over his head and starts to fumble with the buttons of his fly. Timmy has to lift his body a bit to be able to push his shorts down and gets entangled in the fabric. It's just too confusing where to put his long limbs. Armie huffs out in pain as Timmy tackles him with his sharp elbow in the solar plexus.

“Sorry...” he giggles before settling back down, now naked except for his socks and trainers. He must look ridiculous but he doesn't care.

The moon breaks through the clouds and illuminates the scene. Armie's breath catches in his throat as he watches the lean, pale body above him undulate. Timmy reminds him of a faun with his dark wavy curls and his wicked features. He must be way more drunk than he thought.

When their hard cocks touch, both moan. Armie wraps his large hand around both of them and pulls. He has no idea what he's doing but it feels amazing so why stop?

It doesn't take long for them both to be panting heavily. Timmy gets up on his knees and shuffles forward, and suddenly, the tip of Armie's cock brushes between Timmy's cheeks, rubbing against his tight hole.

They both still.

“This is... we shouldn't...” Armie tries to act the responsible adult here but fails miserably because when Timmy grinds down he doesn't stop him.

“Oh god...” Timmy gasps above him.

“Fuck!” Is all Armie can come up with.

But when his cock head slips past the first ring of muscle he stops himself despite how good this feels. Timmy freezes as well. They stare at each other, their breathing wrecked.

Timmy tries to slide down and take him further in but Armie grips his hips, hard. “Don't. You'll hurt yourself.”

“I don't care.” Timmy's voice is rough and fierce.

“But I do.” Armie forcibly lifts Timmy off his cock, grunting in frustration as he slides out. “I'm not... not like this...”

As words fail him he licks his palm and grabs both their cocks again, rubbing them together in his large fist. Timmy shudders above him and throws back his head, barring his long throat. He's breathtakingly beautiful.

When Armie twists his hand on the upstroke Timmy outright moans, low and lewd. Their cocks are by now slick with precome. It feels glorious. Their balls slap together with every move of their bodies. They bare themselves to each other, not holding back.

Chasing his orgasm, Timmy starts to jerk his hips forward, pressing into Armie's touch. He moans again, much more wantonly than the first time, and presses his head against Armies broad chest. His long fingers outright claw to Armie's swelling biceps.

“Yeah, that's it, come on...” Armie whispers, and with the next tug feels hot stickiness wet his palm. Timmy trembles on top of him, stifling his gasps by biting into the soft cotton of Armie's t-shirt. The sight is the most erotic Armie has ever seen.

It only needs a few more strokes for Armie to fall over the edge as well, their come mixing as he spills into his fist. Afterwards, he wants to wipe it into his ruined t-shirt but Timmy grabs his wrist and starts to suck at his sticky fingers. Armie lets him, watching him lick their mingled ejaculate off his palm. It should be disgusting but it's hot as hell. Suddenly, Armie understands why Oliver wants to eat that peach.

They fall silent when Timmy finally releases his hand. It's too dark to gaze at each other, and they are way to spend to have a meaningful conversation. They just stumble to their feet, brushing off leaves, dirt and pine needles as best as possible before Timmy quickly dresses again, fighting once again with his treacherous shorts. Armie gives him a hand as they slowly make their way back to the road where their bikes are still lying on the ground.

They have no idea how late it is as they continue their way to Crema. Without any reason, a light laugh bubbles up in Timmy's throat. Armie joins him. They both feel sober and drunk at the same time, unable to process what they just did. But it feels good. Very good.

They know they've crossed a line tonight. The booze might be an excuse, but it's a thin one. They'll eventually will have to address what happened between them. But not right now. Right now they need a shower to remove the sand from between their buttocks and the pine needles from their hair.

Without exchanging another word, they decide to take that shower together.

**Author's Note:**

> The restaurant is called Trattoria Via Vai and I've been told it's superb.


End file.
